Memories in the Rain
by Kuroi-cho-tsuki-shiro
Summary: A fight against a hollow called the Grand Fisher forces both Ichigo and Rukia to confront their past. A series of shorts based on the story of Bleach from Rukia's point of view. 8
1. Chapter 1

The hollow was the size of a house: a squat shaggy body from which protruded four legs, pink and leathery, like a birds; only its mask betrayed which end was the head and which the rear: a circle of bone with holes for eyes and bright blue ellipses where its cheeks would have been, like theatrical tears. Its mouth was drawn into a permanent grin of blunt, bone-crushing teeth. In one of its clawed hands, it held Ichigo's sister, Karin.

In the confusion, Rukia had had no time to consider the strength of the hollow they were about to face. Yet its _reiatsu _alone had rendered the two girls unconscious. While Ichigo roared anger and charged the hollow, Rukia ran through the gravestones to where Ichigo's other sister, Yuzu, was lying. In nearly the same moment, Kon sprang down from a path that ran along the hill above this part of the graveyeard: "Take her!" Rukia cried, lifting the girl and forcing her into his hands. She wheeled back to the fight in time to see Ichigo's sword slice through the arm that held Karin. The demon howled.

Rukia ran forward and caught Karin as she fell. The girl was groggy, but awake, as she was passed into Kon's arms: "Now, get them both away from here. Fast."

"What is that hollow?" asked Kon. Perhaps he too could sense its _reiatsu._

"Grand Fisher," she said: "It's an ancient hollow. Kon, for their sake, get out of here!"

She didn't turn, but, rather sensed that he had left, because it was hard for her to pull her eyes away from the fight. It had been some time since Ichigo had faced a challenge. She tried hard to read the spiritual pressures, though she could only feel them faintly. The demon was strong, but Ichigo was its equal, she guessed. He should have the advantage of speed and tactics.

Although her powers were all but gone, some things did not fade so easily, like her intuitions in a fight. She saw, before Ichigo, that a matted piece of the hollow's fur had raised itself from its hide, moving with a snake-like purpose. It coalesced. Changed consistency. The hair itself hardened to a point. "Stay alert!" she cried, but it was already too late. His attention was on the hollow's claws and head. And, without thinking, she stepped between him and the newly formed blade.

It caught her in the shoulder, twisting her around and lifting her into the air. Though it found no purchase in her body, there was a bright flush of blood from her arm. She was falling. Her back struck a gravestone and her head snapped back collding with the grave. There was a roaring darkness all around, punctuated only by terrible laughter. Ichigo screamed her name. She was falling, falling, losing consciousness. It took a concerted effort to draw herself back and, even then, her head was throbbing brightly, and it felt like minutes passed before she could open her eyes.

When she did, it was to the sight of a hundred of those blades snaking towards her. She tried to move. Her eyes rolled up in her head and her body slumped back.

A shadow passed between her and the afternoon sun. The soft sound of the blades punching into it roused her. So too the shower of hot blood from his body. She struggled to regain her feet.

Ichigo still stood on the path above the graveyard, staring down at the scene that had unfolded around him. No more than seconds could have passed, she realised, but, in that time, the hollow had turned its attentions to her.

The shadow had been Eikichiro's.

Ichigo leapt down into the graveyard as the hollow gave a wicked laugh. His face was pale:

"Is he alright?"

Rukia stumbled over to Eikichiro's body. Ichigo had put himself between her and the hollow, this time adjusting his stance as the demon moved, buying her time to check the _shinigami. _At first glance, his body was mangled: wounds that no human could survive. Ichigo glanced back over his shoulder, frowning: "Is he unconscious?"

"Unconscious?" He caught something in the tone of his voice that gave a sudden insight into his thoughts: "Ichigo," she said: "We can die, you know."

"What?" He risked another glance back; a nervous half-smile: "Death gods can die?"

"Yes, we can." Eikichiro was still breathing, she noted with relief: "We heal quickly. Did you really think – Never mind." She broke off as Ichigo parried another two of the demon's snake-like blades. It forced itself a step closer, deftly manouevering him away from her.

She didn't want to leave Eikichiro, but she had an idea that this particular demon would be more interested in her than in the injured _shinigami, _so she moved with the fight, making sure that she was always just one step behind Ichigo's swift parries. If the monster could have worn an expression, it would have been one of disappointment.

It's not interested in him, she thought: it wants me.

A plant-like shoot sprang suddenly from the demon's back, at the end of which hung a man-sized bud, sealed with a strip of silky skin. As this was drawn back, it revealed a human girl or, at least, the perfect semblence of a human girl with shoulder-length black hair and a round, kind face. Mimicry, Rukia thought: she was seeing a puppet. A lure used to trap unwary humans with _reiatsu _strong enough for them to see hollows. The demon gently lowered its mimic to the ground in front of Ichigo. Rukia saw him tense. The colour had drained from his face.

"Rukia, what is this thing?"

"Grand Fisher," she said: "It uses that thing to attract humans, to make them trust it."

"That's impossible," Ichigo whispered. She frowned. Was he addressing her:

"No. It's bait. No more and no less. This is a very ancient hollow. It's consumed many _shinigami _and humans, but, I'm afraid to say, it has a very particular taste for" –

"- For women," he finished for her.

"How did you" - ? But she had no time to finish. The demon had sent a host of snake-like blades darting forth around its lure. Ichigo's sword-arm blurred as he parried them, but, even broken or blunted, they enclosed him until he was lost from sight: "Ichigo!" Instinctively, she covered her right wrist with her left hand: the stance she used for _kido._

When the hollow spoke, the lips of its mimic moved:

"We have met before, haven't we, Boy?" it said. Rukia realised that, for now at least, its attention had moved wholly to Ichigo: "You are lucky to have seen me and survived."

She didn't dare try to measure the import of its words. All her energy was concentrated into her wrist and her palms. She drew it out of her body, not caring how it affected her, not caring that she grew cold as she stood there. The palm of her left hand burned:

"_Hado no san jou san. Sokatsui!" _This time, a shot of blue fire issued from her open palm and crashed into the writhing mass of blades that held Ichigo. Flames whipped across its surface and the air was filled with the stench of burning hair.

Ichigo cut through the last strands that surrounded him and dropped onto the path above the graveyard. He seemed none the worse for having been trapped. His expression, though, had a new intensity. The hollow gave a hissing laugh and turned its back on Rukia: _"Hado no san" – _

"Rukia." Ichigo interruped her. His voice was strangely soft: "Please stay out of this."

"What?"

"I don't want your help. This is my fight. I have to do this." He stepped sideways, off of the path, towards the woodlands. The hollow turned with him. Rapt. She knew he was testing it, checking that its renewed interest in him was not feigned, checking that he could safely leave her behind.

"Ichigo."

"Don't come after me, Rukia," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

The sky had clouded over. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall. Rukia checked Eikichiro where he lay. He would live, she guessed, but, for now, there was nothing more she could do. A simple _kido _spell had drained her _reiatsu. _Even if she had wanted to fight, there was no saying she she could have helped Ichigo. Yet she could not merely stand by; she had nowhere to go, no family to rejoin, no home to return to tonight unless it was with him. With those thoughts in her mind, she began to climb the hill behind the graveyard, stepping off the path and into the trees.

It had been raining that day, too, she remembered. There had been a forest. The trees had been taller than the ones here, an ancient woodland, and water had collected on their black spires, falling in heavy drops that had burst against her skin.

So fresh, that memory.

Standing in the rain beside her commanding officer. Reaching for her sword. He'd placed his hand on hers, stopping her. Reassuring her:

"Don't."

"But" –

"Listen to me, Rukia. In the world, there are two kinds of fight. There are fights to protect lives and there are fights to protect honour." In a clearing below the tree in which they stood, a _shinigami _and a hollow were locked in combat: "He is fighting for his honour now," her captain told her: "If you step in at this time, if you save his life now, he will never forgive you, Rukia."

She remembered those words clearly and the effort it had taken for her to remove her hand from the sword. She couldn't remember the fight before that point. The _shinigami _and the hollow had been evenly matched. With years of training behind him, the odds should have favoured the death-god. She had left the blade sheathed and had folded her arms across her chest, shivering, holding herself back.

She did the same now.

In the centre of a clearing, Ichigo was facing the demon. The rain was falling heavily now. There was a wound in his shoulder. Deep. Yet his stance betrayed no pain. His eyes were fixed on the Grand Fisher.

He ran forward and it parried his blows easily. The blades that sprung from its back followed his passage. He was forced to turn in mid-air to hack at them, but, moments later, he thickened the air beneath him, stood suspended for an instant, then leapt backwards, putting the hollow's length again between them. They were testing each other, Rukia guessed, but ichigo was the only one who was bleeding.

"Aren't you going to help him?" That was Kon's voice. She didn't reprimand him for returning, but she did hold herself a little tighter at his words. The rain soaked through her cotton dress, but the cold in her bones went deeper than the unseasonal weather:

"If I save his life now, he won't thank me."

Kon said nothing.

Ichigo sprang into the air, twisting to avoid the blades again. This time, his sword tore into the demon's back and it howled in pain, scrabbling backwards. As he landed, Ichigo glanced towards Rukia and Kon. His mouth was a flat line. His eyes seemed bright with a cold fire. Rukia had never seen that expression before. She had seen it in the face of a man who had been seeking vengeance, and it had left her speechless then as it did now.

The hollow; it knew Ichigo. Wasn't that what it had said? That he had been lucky to survive and encounter with it? When, she wondered. Not in the time since she had known him. Before that then. He had recognised the mimic; he'd known even before she had told him that the Grand Fisher hunted mainly for women.

Women.

Was it possible? The loss of his mother was surely the one thing he would want to avenge and she had not believed, even for a second, that he had actually killed her himself. But to blame himself? That was possible. If her death was linked, somehow with his being able to see this hollow, then yes, it was possible. He had recognised the mimic. Suddenly things were starting to fall into place.

And, a moment later, she was left no room for doubt.

The demon, which had withdrawn its mimic before retreating to the clearing, now released it again. Yet, this time, when the silken skin drew back, the human puppet was the image of a tall woman with honey brown hair, a woman that Rukia recognised from the family shrine in Ichigo's house. That woman was his mother.

"See," the demon hissed, its voice rich with delight: "The memories of every soul I collect live eternally in me. I can use them when I wish. I can use them to show you the one thing that you could never hurt. The one thing that you could never kill."

Ichigo had frozen. Even from here though, Rukia could see that he was shaking. The calm determination was gone and she found herself staring at a different man altogether. Not really a man, but a boy, his eyes wide and frightened.

Blades snaked from the demon's back and, this time, Ichigo made no effort to dodge them. It seemed he was conscious of nothing but the image of his mother.

They struck him. Six cleaved straight through him, through his shoulders, through his thighs; ne tore through his chest and out of his back. His body hung there, and two streams of blood began to pour from the corners of his mouth.

A cry caught in Rukia's throat. She started to choke and she might have fallen, but that Kon's hands were on her shoulders, holding her up.

The demon, laughing, withdrew the blades.

Ichigo fell forward onto his knees, coughing blood. Shudders were racking his body, but, by sheer force of will it seemed, he braced himself against his sword. It bore up his weight. And still the demon kept on laughing.

It kept on laughing until the very last moment.

The movement was so fast, so unexpected, that Rukia's breath caught in her throat. Ichigo sprang forward. There was no grace in it, and no plan, just sheer momentum. His eyes were slits. All his concentration was focussed on the point of his sword as he drove it straight through the image of his mother and into the demon, where it buried itself to the hilt.

The beast screamed, then choked. It lurched backwards, off of the blade. "No!" It wailed: "No! No! No!" And a pair of vast, black wings emerged from its back as it took to the sky.

Rukia had started to run across the clearing. The wet grass licked at her ankles, but she was both hot and cold. Freezing and burning.

"Wait!" Ichigo snarled at the sky, where the hollow was already a patch of shadow between the clouds: "You can't – wait!"

"Ichigo! Stop now! You must stop!" Rukia reached the flattened patch of grass where they had been fighting: "You won! It can't fight anymore! Ichigo, you can't fight anymore!"

He had taken two steps after it, delerious, one hand rasied, grasping at the sky, as Rukia set herself in front of him. She caught hold of the fabric of his kimono at the shoulders, wound her fingers into it, and he stared at her with empty eyes. As if he had never seen her before. "Ichigo, you can't fight!" And then the light went out of those same eyes and he pitched forward.

Rukia fell to her knees under his weight, but she caught his shoulders and managed to gently lower his head into her lap. She could feel each breath in his chest, but the only sound between them was the rain. It tap-tapped on the blade of his sword, lying some metres away in the grass. It collected in pools around her bare legs and formed rivulets down her arms. But he was warm, lying there. His head on her knees.

"You know, if he's still breathing after that attack, he'll recover."

She looked up. Eikichiro was standing over them, one hand on his sword, the other thoughtfully tapping his chin. For the first time, she realised she was crying, and not even the rain could hide it. "What shall I tell my commander then?" Eikichiro asked: "The Lady Kuchiki Rukia is getting hot and heavy with a human boy?"

"Don't!"

He stepped back at the anger in her voice:

"Alright, alright! I guess I'll have to tell them the truth then. I couldn't find you. I never saw you." He turned away: "Farewell, Lady Rukia. They will send someone else though. You can't hide forever."

As soon as he was gone, she closed her eyes and bent her head over Ichigo until all she could feel was the warmth of his body and the heat of her own tears.


	3. Chapter 3

The rain had stopped and the sun had set, casting a deep twilight over the cemetary. Ichigo cried out and Rukia, who had been sitting on the root of a tree, her knees pulled up to her chest, started and looked up.

He'd been unconscious for a long time. In the last half hour, she'd returned his soul to his body and brought him here, under the shelter of the trees. At the sound of his voice, she picked up her bag, matter-of-factly, and stood up:

"We need to get you back to your family."

"Shit, Rukia! Ah, Rukia!" His voice broke somewhere between anger and a sob, and her name slurred into a stream of incoherent profanities. She turned. He was still on his back, his hands balled into fists; his eyes screwed shut: "Rukia, my shoulder! Ah, why didn't you heal me? Fuck, it hurts! You didn't heal it!"

"I was too busy healing the massive hole in your chest," she said coldly. He was too accustomed to her reprimands to see the tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes as she turned away: "Get up. Come on."

Not once had he ever complained about an injury. She had initially healed him as a matter of course, but, as her powers had waned, it had started to become a drain on her, and she had stopped. It hadn't mattered. He walked away from most fights with only scrapes and bruises. Yet today had been something else, and when it came down to it, she had barely been able to close the wounds, let alone take away the pain, despite labouring over him since the end of the fight, draining the last of her strength as if, in some way, she could atone for having brought him to this.

She swiped tears away from her eyes. She couldn't stop them falling and she told herself that it was exhaustion. She had used up the last of her _reiatsu _trying to drag him back to consciousness.

Behind her, he got to his feet. He was quiet now, though his breathing was short and shallow. She couldn't doubt the pain he was in or the determination it took not to show it:

"Thanks, Rukia," he said as he came up beside her and fell into step. She folded her arms across her chest and kept her head down.

When they reached the path, Ichigo spoke again. Until then, the only accompaniment to their steps had been the rain dripping from leaf to leaf and the short, sharp sound of his breathing: "I want to visit my mother's grave," he said. She nodded:

"It's probably best if I don't come with you."

"Why not?"

She looked up:

"Because your family will see me. You didn't want them to see me, did you?" His lips parted and his expression, if anything, was one of longing. She felt her chest tighten over her next breath: "They'll ask too many questions."

She stepped backwards, the rain soaked grass lapping around her legs. She could still see him on the path, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his head on one side, staring after her. He stayed that way long after her figure, for him, must have melted into the shadows. She only started to breathe again when, with a slight nod of his head, he moved off down the path.

What the hell was that?

She shivered as she made her way deeper into the woodland, forging a path to the slope above the cemetary. Her thoughts seemed to be running too fast for her to get a hold of them, but, at least, for now, confusion seemed to have eclipsed her sorrow.

She arrived at a spot overlooking the cemetary. She would not be seen from here, but she could see Ichigo standing by his mother's grave, having lit a handful of incense. Its perfume wound itself around the rain-soaked air. As she watched, he was joined by his father, Isshin. Rukia knew him well by sight: a broad-shouldered man with a puggish face and hair on both his head and chin that had the consistency of thin wires. His figure was a contrast to Ichigo's tall, slender build and the boy's shock of unruly red-blond hair. Father and son could not have been less alike.

Ichigo looked up. His father was smoking. Isshin placed one foot unceremoniously on the step to the grave.

"I thought you quit."

"I did. I only have the one. Each year."

"Why?"

Isshin breathed out a long spiral of smoke:

"The only praise I ever remember your mother giving me was the day before we married," he said: "She told me I looked cool with a cigarette. So I come here and smoke one. Every year."

Ichigo stared at him and, after a beat, his thin shoulders sagged as if someone had landed a blow across his back. He dropped his gaze and, when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion:

"Why? Dad? Why doesn't anyone blame me? It's my fault!" A sob caught in his chest: "It's my fault, so why isn't anyone angry with me?"

"I couldn't be angry with you," said Isshin softly: "You're the man my wife died trying to protect. She would never forgive me." Ichigo took a deep breath and met his father's gaze as the older man continued: "Let me tell you something, Ichigo: a father's advice to his son." He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel: "Live out your life and make sure that you outlive me." He stepped past Ichigo, walking back towards the gates of the cemetary, but lifting his voice so that his son would hear: "Grow old. Grow fat. Grow bald. And, for goodness sake, smile a little sometimes."

And then he was gone. Ichigo stared after him, then looked back at his mother's grave. When he spoke, there was a new timbre in his voice:

"Rukia, I want you to train me. I want to grow stronger and stronger, so that no-one else has to feel what I've felt. I want to grow stronger, or else I can never face my mother."

Rukia held her arms tight across her chest:

"Oh, Ichigo," was all she said, but he couldn't know how the words stung her. These last three months had changed her. What she felt now was a sense of regret and of trespassing. She had stepped into this world, his world, and had changed his fate, had twisted it. Time and again, she had dragged him into danger and, in her heart, she knew that there would be no solution. Her powers had altered him, turning him into something that was neither a human nor a god, but it was something strong enough to interest her superiors. She did not think they would let him live. That was the fact she had to face.

Human beings had been her duty: brief, bright creatures, existing in a world of routine accumulation that she knew nothing of. Ichigo had been an aberration. An inconvenience. Then a curiosity.

Then something else.

He'd protected her. But he'd teased her too. Reprimanded her. Taught her. When she was with him, she felt safe and, when he wasn't there, she was lost. And it had been easy, so easy to play along.

When he had looked at her that way though, it had ceased to be a game. No make believe. He trusted her implicitly. And she was about to betray him.


	4. Chapter 4

**If you enjoyed this story, please check my profile page for the next in the series . It lists them in order so you shouldn't have any trouble finding them. Thanks!**


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